


I'm Not Crazy

by dollface



Category: Bring Me The Horizon, Paramore
Genre: F/M, Hayliver, Mental Disorder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-15
Updated: 2014-04-15
Packaged: 2018-01-19 11:32:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1467934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollface/pseuds/dollface
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Oliver, is that you? I miss you, Oliver, I really do. When are you coming home? I made us dinner tonight – your favourite, roast vegetables and lamb. I didn’t burn anything so we don’t have to order takeaway.”</p><p>“Come on, Oli, come home. Please. For me. I need to tell you about my day; it’s incredibly interesting. I would tell you now, but that defeats the purpose. Oliver, the potatoes are going cold. I just ate one. Hurry up, please.”</p><p>“Oliver, where are you – no, don’t answer that. That’s – argh! Oliver. Get your sorry butt home now. Oliver! Oliver!”</p><p>“Oli… I love you. Please return to me.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Not Crazy

The dull, monotonous beeping blared through the house bathed in a soft glow from the steadily disappearing sun. Curtains covered in dust and cobwebs shuddered in the breeze from an open window, and the smell of rotting fruit was in the air. In the kitchen, a blade covered in various juices sat upon a cutting board, at least three week old mangoes and strawberries by its side. The mangoes were covered in fuzz and were turning green, while the strawberries were almost pure white. A mobile phone lay silent on the dining table, flashing that it was about to run out of battery. It was as though the owners had just upped and left at a minute’s notice. And still, the home phone rang on, transferring over to voice mail.  
  
It was hanging in its cradle, the dirty white seemingly bright against the shadowed walls and abandoned chairs, left out at an angle as though the person who had just vacated the seat had gone to retrieve something, with all intent on returning. The shrill ring ended abruptly as it finished its transition to voice mail, and a female’s voice echoed throughout the house instead. It was of a low timbre, and it steadily increased in pitch as the woman became more frantic.  
  
“I’m coming over, okay? The bus will be there in fifteen minutes.” Were her last words before the call ended with a  _click_. Nothing moved inside the silent house still, and the soft breeze through the window had stopped. The house was waiting with baited breath for the girl to arrive, and only when she did with a steady stomp on the deck, did the wind pick back up.  
  
The girl outside had red hair, brighter than a fire truck with a fresh paint job. It could be seen easily against the fading pink sky, clouds obscuring some of the oddly coloured sky. She was wearing Doc Martens, thus the heavy sound against the squeaky boards, and a stark white jacket. Green eyes surveyed the door in front of her as a small hand lifted to her face to absent mindedly sweep long bangs out of the way. “Oliver?” She enquired of the door, ignoring the small silver button next to it and opting instead to tap lightly on the dark wood. She rocked back on her heels after she knocked, lacing her fingers behind her back. Green eyes once again flashed to the door, and the wind picked up a bit more, ruffling her hair. With a huff, she reached back up to fix it, saying, “Oliver, are you going to let me in?” She rapped her knuckles against the wood, harder this time, her mouth twisting into a taut line.  
  
A few more seconds passed, and with no indication of anyone opening the door, the red headed girl started rummaging in one of her jacket pockets. A small silver object clattered to the deck, earning a small yelp of surprise from the girl. Leaning down to pick it up, she jammed the key in the lock, a smile overcoming her features as she heard the bolt move. She pushed the door open, stepping inside and taking her jacket off before closing the door behind her. Dropping the key onto a table in the entryway and throwing her jacket over the back of a chair, she started to wander about the house, checking all of the rooms for Oliver. As she did, she started babbling to him, despite his obvious absence.  
  
“Oliver, its Hayley. Where are you? I thought we agreed you were coming over to my place today.” There was a blanket draped over an armchair and Hayley walked over to it, shaking it out and watching the dust float down. She wrapped it around her shoulders and began her trip up the stairs. “Oliver, are you even listening to me?” Her boots continued to clunk around on the top level, making the floorboards squeal with almost every step she took.  
  
She entered a bedroom and looked around, an unimpressed expression on her face. She raised her eyebrows as she took in the immaculately made bed and fluffed pillows. The blanket trailed on the ground behind her as she sneaked a quick peek at the other side of the bed - she couldn’t believe that a boy could be this clean and tidy. Finding no dirty socks, she resigned herself to the fact that Oliver was a neat freak and he had very little else to amuse himself with.  
  
Hayley walked over to his closet, hoping to see some sign of his young age, but found nothing but neatly ironed shirts and what looked like a few of her dresses. She inhaled deeply and caught a whiff of Oliver’s scent - a mix made up of heavy–handed cologne trying to mask the stench of cheap beer.  
  
She continued snooping about the landing, her stomach tightening as no signs of another human being in the house began to hit her. Pulling the blanket even closer, she slowly crept down the stairs, heart hammering in her ears. Turning towards the kitchen, she lifted the fabric that smelled faintly of vanilla washing powder up to her face to block out the worst of the rotting fruit’s scent. Wrinkling her nose in disgust, Hayley gingerly carried the fruit out to the bin, tossing them in and, with a second thought and sharp glance down at the cutting board, threw it out too. There was barely any hope of saving it.  
  
Turning on the water and letting it fill up the sink a quarter of the way, Hayley dumped in a fair amount of detergent. Carefully lowering the knives used to cut the fruit into the boiling water, she left it to settle before going into the backyard. At least the metal blades could be saved – they looked of a more expensive brand. She sucked in the cleaner air, looking at the washing on the line – more sun dresses and shirts – and the large peach tree in the back corner. It was in full bloom, and even more rotted peaches were scattered at its base. Hayley simply sighed and decided to not call out to Oliver again. Not here, at least; it was clear he wasn’t anywhere near the area.  
  
“Oliver!” The girl’s voice echoed around the house as she shut the door behind her, going back into the lounge room. She brushed the blanket down and shook the leaves off it before folding it and placing it over the chair she had found it on. Another quick look around the house – upstairs bedroom, closet, bathroom, kitchen, backyard and lounge room again – she collapsed into the chair, her breathing cutting itself short. “O–Oliver… Where are you?” She gasped, hands gripping the arms and making the skin turn white. Green eyes appraised the seat opposite her, as though Oliver was going to appear and begin talking, like an apparition almost.  
  
Hayley squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m  _not_  crazy.” She tried to comfort herself, bring her knees up to her chest and leaning her forehead against them. “You’re alive.” Eyes snapping open, she jumped forward, rushing into the laundry and grabbing a basket. She dumped it on the ground near the clothesline and smoothed her hair back in the raging wind, pulling down the assorted clothes. “I know you are.” Finishing gathering the clothing, Hayley threw out most of the fuzzy, worm–eaten peaches and finished washing the knives, drying them carefully before placing them in the rack.  
  
She ran her hands over the bench and surveyed the dining room. A few photos were scattered across a buffet, mostly personal shots. Her boots clunking on the tiles, Hayley picked them up and admired them, memories flashing across her mind. The photos were mainly selfies taken by either herself or Oliver, or shots of the two of them by family members. A hand stuck in her jeans pocket, Hayley continued her way down the buffet. She grabbed the last photo and sat down at the dining table with it, admiring both hers and Oliver’s expressions. They had played around with this shot, or shots to be exact, and made it look like it was a double exposure. They had been at the beach at the time, and one of the layers was of them almost slamming their heads together as they jumped in for the shot, wide grins plastered on their sun–tanned faces. The other was of them kissing, Hayley cradling Oli’s head in her hands.  
  
The girl still remembers that day, at the exact times both photos had been taken. She still remembers the words he had whispered in her ear after their kiss – “I fucking love you, you know that right?” – and her response – “Of course I know. And you know what? It’s reciprocated. I love you too, Oli.” They had been accused of being saps by their two closest friends and had simply laughed it off as their friends ran into the ocean, the breeze making Hayley shiver slightly. The salt air had been tangible for miles around and she had enjoyed the taste of it on her tongue. The four had bought hot chips for lunch and after a quick dip they had driven home, Hayley dripping water all over the passenger seat of the car.  
  
Now, the girl simply reminded herself of the memory before pushing it out of her mind and placing the photograph on the buffet. She fingered the phone laying on the table, picking it up and turning it over in her slim hand. It had stopped flashing; giving up any hope that a ghost may have mercy on it and plug it in. The girl, however, wasn’t a spirit and easily found the right cord. As she waited for the screen to light up and announce its ability to function, she wandered around the house and shut all the windows, finally annoyed by the cool temperature inside and the infrequent bursts of wind that shook the house.  
  
Satisfied, the girl stomped her way back to the dining room table and checked the phone. The password feature wasn’t enabled and she scrolled through the phone freely. A number of messages from “Love” had been received but not replied to or even seen for that matter. Reading through them and past conversations, Hayley’s eyebrows moved closer together.  
  
“Oliver.” The word passed her lips easily and she looked up, as though expecting to see the six foot two man standing in the kitchen. Instead the home phone rang. She looked at it with wide eyes, slowly standing up and listening to the rings – one, two, three, four – and the final  _click_  as the caller hung up. Lifting her hand to the smooth white plastic, she waited for the phone to ring again, signalling the call was urgent – if it was she would pick up. Her hunch was right as the phone began to peal, and it was cut off abruptly as she snatched it off the hook.  
  
“Hello?” Her voice was quiet compared to the ringing and her boots. She twirled a piece of hair around her finger as she listened intently for a response.  
  
“Hayley? Is that you?” It came in the form of a rough, male voice, accent running the syllables together. The finger wrapped around a few strands of hair clenched tightly, and she almost ripped them out of her scalp.  
  
“Oliver! Yes it’s me. Where are you? You weren’t home –”  
  
“Don’t worry, I’ll be there in a few seconds, don’t worry. Sit tight.” The phone call ended as fast as it had started, and Hayley’s face dropped. A knot tying itself in her stomach, she all but ran to the living room, shoving her arms through the jacket sleeves and perching on the edge of a chair, hands clasped tightly on top of her knees.  
  
Oliver was driving fast to Hayley’s house, hoping that she had listened to him. He should have kept her on the phone and continued speaking to her like nothing was wrong. That she hadn’t run back to her house. That she hadn’t been desperately calling her own number searching for him. That she hadn’t gone off the rails.  
  
He pulled up to her second storey house and slammed on the breaks; she had run out from her seat on the stairs. She was waving wildly, fire truck–red hair bright in the glow of the street lights. “Get in the car, love.” He said gruffly, muttering to himself. He jerked the gear stick backwards, urging the car into reverse. Backing into her neighbour’s driveway, she hopped into the car happily, leaning over and encasing him in her soft embrace. Leaving a red mark on his cheek from her kiss, she settled back.  
  
“Thank god you’re alive.” She smiled over at him, lacing their hands together and giving his a slight squeeze.  
  
“Put your seatbelt on.” They turned out of the street and began their trip to the heart of the city. “I saw you made dinner.” Oliver adventured, not wanting to put her back out of whack. Last time he had done that – accidentally – over a phone call, she had shown up at his empty LA apartment. He had been in Britain at the time, and after receiving numerous panicked phone calls flown back over. That had been three weeks ago. He had tried to go to a studio to record vocals after staying by Hayley’s side. He had foolishly believed that she would be okay. That this wouldn’t happen.  
  
“I did. It would be cold by now.” Her voice dropped. “Shame; it was such a nice dinner.” Oliver barely nodded.  
  
“It’s okay. We can reheat it when we get back.” A few minutes passed in absolute silence while Hayley processed this. Oliver was tempted to turn the radio on.  
  
“Am I crazy?” Hayley said abruptly, rattling him. He glanced over at her and saw how she was chewing on her bottom lip and looping hair around her finger.  
  
“Of course not.” Oliver replied without skipping a beat. There were traces of tears in her eyes and the tip of her nose had turned red. Taking care of Hayley was a full time job; he realised that now. He had to protect her. To save her from the monsters within her mind which convinced her that he wouldn’t be there for her. It was almost ironic, really. Her demons were his own, yet he couldn’t save her from herself. Not like he could save himself from his fears. It would take a lifetime of convincing her, and he was ready to do just that.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspiration comes from “(One of Those) Crazy Girls” by Paramore.


End file.
